


Opacity

by bismuthBallistics, red_as_ever



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, modern fae au, urban fantasy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2861000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismuthBallistics/pseuds/bismuthBallistics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_as_ever/pseuds/red_as_ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When York loses his vision, he turns to a friend in the Fae Court to help him restore it. Carolina warns him that magic comes at a price. He’s about to learn just how high that price will be.</p><p>Collaborative project for the RvB Shipping Jamboree Fairytale Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opacity

York left the hospital to a world of blurred shapes and muted colors. A new white cane skittered ahead of him; he didn’t quite have the rhythm down, didn’t respond quickly enough when it caught on an uneven patch of sidewalk. He stumbled. Again. At least he hadn’t dropped the cane this time. Five minutes into using it, he already loathed the aluminum tool and everything it represented.

Thankfully, he only had to cross the parking lot to reach the bus stop, and no cars ran him over on the way. The blue-and-white transit sign stood right where it was supposed to be (the pixie at the front desk had given him very precise instructions). For a full minute, York stood at the side of the road, waiting. He knew what to do about this. If he could just get to a person who could fix his blindness, all would be well.

Then the bus pulled up. Adjusting his grip on his cane, York stepped inside. He promptly tripped up the steps, nearly landing on the dullahan in the driver’s seat.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” York said. He fumbled in his pocket for his bus pass, then slid it across the scanner. “This bus heads north up Ninth Avenue, right?”

“It does.”

He climbed into the seat closest to her. “Could you tell me when we pass the gym?”

“There’s a stop right across the street from it,” she said.

“Perfect.” It wasn’t--not if it meant crossing more streets--but at least he wouldn’t have to navigate.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood outside the fitness center. She had better be here, he told himself. 

The witch at the desk told him that Carolina was on the third floor, teaching kickboxing to preteens. York smiled, nodded his thanks, and beat a hasty retreat. The sooner Carolina and he talked, the better.

York sprawled on a bench outside the studio, where he could feel the beat of rhythmic pop even through the walls. The sound of Carolina shouting combinations was audible above her music, and York smiled. Same old Carolina.

He lost track of time, half dozing, caught anchorless in the flow of workout music and laughter. Soon enough he was jolted awake as the music cut off, followed soon by the students racing out the studio door, chattering amongst themselves. One of them shouted to Carolina that he was outside. Carolina poked her head out and informed him, without so much as a greeting, that she needed ten minutes to put away the punching bags and gather up her gear. That was fine. York had nowhere else to be.

Finally the door clicked open again. “So. York,” Carolina said, her voice clipped. He couldn’t hear pity. He hadn’t expected any, not from Carolina, but it was pleasant anyway.

He grinned lopsidedly at her. “Carolina.”

“I heard what happened,” she said.

York swallowed hard. Of course she had. The changeling dealt with information; she would want to know if something had happened to one of her sources. “I’m about to lose my job,” he said. “They have me on leave for the next week, but the minute I show up, they’ll fire me. A blind man is a waste in the IT department.”

“And you think I can help you,” Carolina said.

“You know people,” he said.

“Dangerous people,” she pointed out. “And it is going to cost you.”

“It always does,” he said. He had seen people sell family for a wish. North was still paying for saving South from the Twin Stars, and the worst part was how South hadn’t wanted any of it: not saving, not leaving, not paying. York bit his lip. This was for no one but him, and Carolina wasn’t cruel. The risks were worth it.

She sighed, and he felt her settle onto the bench next to him. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll call Alpha and ask him to help you. He owes me, he’ll figure something out. And in exchange, I get your couch.”

“I’m not sure it’ll match the decor in the Fae court,” he said.

She touched his cheek, silencing him. “No. I want it right where it is.”

“But why--”

“I’m a changeling living in the Fae court. My brother tries, but--it’s not a home,” she said. “But, even knowing what I am, you accepted me. If I could have even a corner of your space to call my own, it would mean more to me than anything in my brother’s halls.”

He wished he could see her face, but he could only imagine the tears forming in those luminous eyes. “I didn’t know,” he said. “Okay. You can have my couch.”

A few soft fingers brushed over the back of his hand, and he turned it palm up and open. Honesty, openness. Carolina clicked her tongue and took a strong hold of his hand, shaking it once. York could feel something settle in the air around him, something he hadn’t known had tensed.

Carolina dropped his hand as quickly as she’d taken it. He could hear the quick dialing of a phone, and then-- “Ch--Alpha. I’m calling in that favor.” A pause, then: “An… acquaintance of mine wants healing. Need you to--We’ve settled that bargain already, I’m not reneging. … Yes, I know you can’t--Well, someone who can, then! Delta’s fine. That’s fine. He’ll visit D, that’s fine. Don’t get all teary, you’ll see me tonight. I’m not leaving just yet.”

York heard cursing to the effect of the other person’s lack of sentiment, and then nothing. Carolina’s firm hand clapped around his shoulder. “Looks like he’s at the library.”

***  
First step: getting to the library. Carolina had been gracious enough to look up directions for him before he left. Still, remembering to catch bus 94 west from the gym, then switch to the 127 at State and ride it three stops north? York caught himself repeating it like a mantra.

Finally, finally, the 127 lurched to a halt. York dropped his cane, bent to grab it again, and knocked his head into someone’s backpack. Ugh. He had never been so glad to get off a crowded, noisy overheated excuse for public transport.

Inside the library, the air was cool. York paused just inside the door; there was a charge in the air here, not unlike the one he had felt while dealing with Carolina. That power only grew when he stumbled into the glass elevator. Top floor, she had told him, at the back corner.

Claws brushed over his skin as a hand wrapped around his wrist, and York jumped. He’d thought he was getting better at hearing people walk up; he hadn’t expected someone else to be in the elevator with him.

“You’re York?”

“You’re Delta?”

“I’d hardly be anyone else.” That sounded somewhat like dodging the question to York, but he wasn’t quite sure how. Besides, Carolina didn’t seem like she would actively screw him over. He sighed, and decided to let this person guide him.

The elevator ascended, dragging streaks of color past York’s eyes. He willed himself not to get dizzy. When it stopped, Delta walked him over the floor to a back room. York squinted; the fae guided him through two doors. The _click_ they made as they shut behind should have felt ominous to York, but instead he felt safe. Guarded. Two locked doors were between him and anything that tried to get in.

Delta stopped, letting York’s wrist fall. York frowned. Suddenly that protected feeling had dropped a notch, the cool air of the library sending goosebumps up his arms. “Please sit,” Delta said. “There’s a chair behind you.”

“Uh-huh,” York said. He did as he was told, positioning his cane between his feet to cross his arms tight over his chest. Better. Not bulletproof, but better.

“Alpha says you’d like me to heal you,” Delta said.

“I made a deal with Carolina. She’s calling in a favor.”

“Mm.” Delta clicked his tongue. “Alpha commands me, but I still want payment. Something like this is worth more than letting a changeling stay on your couch.”

York narrowed his eyes. How the hell did he know--nevermind.“What do you want?” He could hear Delta shift slightly, hum to himself. He was pleased.

“ _Born of fire and oil, bathed in snow and blood. Worthless on its own, the value is imbued. Created for destruction, it lives to be devoured. Hands will rise and fall before you obtain your prize._ ” York’s jaw dropped. Delta paused, then continued, “Figure that out and bring the answer to me by 1:37 tomorrow afternoon.”

“What the fuck.”

“I can write that down for you, if you’d like. Or record it, I suppose.” York glared at him, and heard anxious flapping of wings. “I suppose the time is rather arbitrary. However, it is when I prefer to eat lunch. I imagine you’ll need a while to figure it out, so I assumed that would be an acceptable time limit.”

York groaned.

***  
Home at last. Dropping his cane by the door, York fumbled to close the lock. Too hungry to eat, he wanted only to collapse on the couch and never wake up. Which he did.

Unfortunately, someone already sat there. “Hey!” Carolina snapped. “Watch where you’re sitting!” His feet had landed in her lap; she shoved him off of her. He hit the floor hard.

“You realize who you’re saying this to, right?” he asked. Pushing himself up, he squinted up at her to make out patches of red and white--vibrant hair and pale skin--against the couch.

“You realize whose couch this is now, right?” she shot back. Then added, in a softer voice, “But you can sit with me if you’ll tell me how it went.”

“He’s a dick! I didn’t ask him for riddles.”

“You ask a sphinx for something and you’re not likely to get much else.”

“He’s a--never mind. I’m screwed. So screwed. I have to find him some food thing that’s been born in fire and oil and coated in blood by tomorrow afternoon.”

Carolina laughed, high and sweet. “Do you have a copy of this somewhere?” York groaned and reached into his pocket; in the end, he’d just had Delta write it out, figuring he could find someone who’d read it to him. Carolina took it from him and unfolded it, the paper rustling. For a moment, she was silent. Then she whistled. “I don’t know what I expected. D’s… D can be difficult, sometimes.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” York slumped back, draping himself over her. “I have to bring whatever that is to him by--get this-- _1:37 PM tomorrow_. Who is this guy?”

“One of the most normal members of my brother’s court, surprisingly enough. He’s not a total dick. He doesn’t gain anything from screwing you over.” Carolina paused. “You said this was food?”

York nodded.

“Then it’s fried, we know that much. Born of fire and oil, right?”

“You’re incredible, you know that?” She was going to help. Carolina was going to _help him._ York leaned into her, overwhelmingly grateful. With his hands, he sought her cheeks--

A firm hand on his chest stopped him. “No. No kissing.”

“It’s a sign of gratitude,” he protested.

“Not among the Fae. We--they--don’t kiss mortals. Not when they don’t understand that commitment,” she said. 

“Commitment?” he repeated.

“A kiss is a contract,” she said. “Not just a sign of love or of gratitude. A promise, York. It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

York would have argued, but she cut him off. “Let’s work on the riddle, ok? We can talk kissing after this is over.” Carolina took a deep breath. “Now, snow and blood--that’s gotta be a metaphor. Delta hates snow. Let’s go back to that later.”

“The thing about value’s pretty straightforward, right?” York offered. “Whatever it is, its value is dependent on… people wanting it, I guess. The more you want it, the more it’s worth.”

“Mm.” The paper rustled as Carolina studied it again. “Hands will rise and fall… Maybe that’s something about students? Classrooms?”

York furrowed his brows, digging his hands between the couch cushions. “Yeah, but why’s that necessary to _gain the prize_ or whatever? Snow and blood don’t have much to do with schools.”

“Then let’s look at it differently. What has hands?” Carolina’s head thumped against the back of the couch, and she sighed. “People. People have hands. There are hands in cards. Maybe you have to play poker. No, that’s stupid, I’m tired. Sorry.”

“There are hands on a clock?” York tried. “Like, time? Rise and fall around the clock?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. Carolina shifted upright next to him. “Holy crap.” York had just enough time to wonder what she had realized before she tipped over onto his lap, howling with laughter. “Delta! You hipster! What the hell are you thinking, making York run errands for you?”

“You know what it is?” York squinted at the shaking pile of red hair in his lap.

“Powdered sugar snow, tree blood syrup--oh my god, devoured-- _Delta_ you _pretentious_ ass!”

“So, you know what it is?” York prompted her again.

Carolina took a deep breath, stilling in his lap. “Oh, I know what it is. The question is,” she said solemnly, “how desperate are you?”

***  
Desperate enough that he reached the library doors the following morning before they had even opened, a pair of precious, paper-wrapped cronuts in a plastic bag hanging from his wrist. Thank goodness the patisserie owner had built the shop right on the bus route. 

Ten minutes from now, this nightmare would be over. Unless Delta had an aversion to cold cronuts. Or had meant something else by his riddle. Carolina had insisted on cronuts, though, and if a hipster pastry was the price to get his sight back? York was more than willing to work with it.

As soon as the door opened, York picked his way past the scanners and into the elevator. He struggled with the buttons for an embarrassingly long time, trying to trace something that looked like a “four” on the display.

New footsteps rattled the elevator car. “Need a hand?” a low voice asked. 

“Please,” York said. “Fourth floor.” Stepping out of the way, he focused on the green-clad figure instead of the motion outside. He had learned his lesson.

The other man let him out first. If he noticed the pastries York held close, he said nothing. Thank goodness. York really wasn’t in the mood to justify bringing food into the library, especially not when he could _feel_ Delta’s power supercharging the air but found no sign of the fae. He would have to find the office on his own. Sighing, he wandered off to the right. One of those rooms along the back wall had to be Delta’s.

Several minutes later, his hand had brushed along what felt like double doors. Doubling back, he fumbled for the doorknob. The moment he touched it, a soft click signalled the opening of the door.

“You’re early.” Delta’s voice. York couldn’t see him--the fae had closed the window shades--but he stepped toward where he thought he had heard the voice.

“Have to be early if you want one of these,” he said. He raised the bag and shook it.

The windows snapped open. Even in his near-blindness, York flinched and closed his eyes. The same hand from yesterday took him by the wrist, guided him to the conference table in the middle of the room and sat him down in one of the chairs. “Flavor of the month is chocolate raspberry,” York said, hoping to sound less nervous than he was. “Hope that’s okay.”

The hand slipped away, taking the bag with it. “There are two in here,” he said, disapproval lowering his voice.

“I. Uh. Since you’re the only one up here, I thought you might be lonely? I figured we could do breakfast together.” The words escaped him in a rush. 

Delta didn’t respond. How York wished he could see his face. He imagined the fae had an expression like Carolina’s when she got contemplative, those too-thin lips pursed and eyes staring far away.

Plastic rustled against the tabletop. Finally, Delta spoke: “Allow me to do something for you first.” Then he was standing right in front of York, their knees nearly touching, a hand on either side of York’s face. The smell of old books and sun-heated glass rolled off of him: York inhaled it deeply, trying to steady himself. One hand left his face. In his crippled eyes, he saw something moving behind Delta like the unrolling of a gigantic banner. Something made him gasp. Then his hand returned, something small and tawny brown clasped in it.

“Close your eyes,” Delta said. York obeyed, pressing them shut like a child waiting for a surprise.

“Not so tight,” Delta admonished. “As if you’re sleeping. Relax.” If York didn’t know better, he’d swear Delta sounded like he smiled.

Something scratched against York’s forehead. Before he could ask, a featherlight touch skimmed his left eyelid, then his right. The sensation tingled, reaching down into his eyes until he could have sworn they glowed. Delta blew on them and the feeling faded.

“You may look when you’re ready,” he said.

York’s hands clenched on his armrests. He breathed. Then opened his eyes.

Delta stood close enough to touch, his fae form draped in a checkerboard-print button-up with the sleeves rolled halfway up. Giant wings stood out behind his shoulders, nearly brushing the ceiling at the top. A hand with clawlike fingers and tawny fur rested at the level of York’s chest, a single feather lying in its palm. 

“This is yours,” Delta said. “Its magic is gone, but it is yours for the remembering.”

“Thank you,” York whispered. He set it in his shirt pocket. When he looked back up, the wings and claws had disappeared with the golden glow. Only Delta’s face remained the same: brilliant green eyes examined him with interest, cat-eye pupils large and rounded now. The hair and high, pointed eyebrows had darkened almost to black, and the same smile played at the corners of those narrow lips.

“Shall we have breakfast?” Delta asked. He sat down in the seat immediately next to York, their legs close enough to touch, and reached into the bag. He handed York the first of the pale yellow boxes, a napkin, and a pair of utensils; of course, York knew better than to dig in before Delta had retrieved his own. They opened their boxes at the same time, and he had to admit, the pastry definitely looked like it was worth the hype. The fluffed-up layers had turned toasted-marshmallow gold and dripped with chocolate sauce like a stack of pancakes. Fresh raspberries adorned the top like a crown, dusted with a layer of powdered sugar.

“I’ve gotta admit. You have good taste,” York said.

“Of course I do,” Delta said. He continue to dismantle his box until it lay flat on the table. York had already reached into his with knife and fork to cut loose a good-sized bite.

“So have you had these before?” he asked. Delta shook his head. “Seriously? They’re only a few stops from here!”

“Unfortunately, my obligations to my Alpha keep me away in the mornings,” Delta said. 

“Oh,” York said. He had never considered Delta would be as much a prisoner of the Alpha as Carolina. “Makes sense. I was in line for like two hours to get these things. Guess I’m lucky you came in early today, huh?”

“Quite.” Delta lifted a bite to his mouth with dainty fingers. Smiling around his fork, he closed his eyes in satisfaction. “Delicious,” he said. “Thank you for bringing these.”

York shrugged. “We had a deal,” he said. “And thank you for--well--” He gestured at his eyes, not wanting to mention his blindness again. He would be far happier if he never remembered it had happened.

Delta said nothing. He had set into his cronut with an almost feral enthusiasm. York grinned despite himself.

He had just cut away the last pieces of cronut when the door opened. He turned. Two figures stood in the entrance, both dressed in shadowed green, a taller one behind his short counterpart.

Across the table, Delta bristled. “This room is in use,” he said.

“I noticed,” the shorter man said.

No. Not a man. He wore a human form, and his leather bolero and boots matched the latest fashion. Those eyes, though: golden orange with catlike pupils. York’s eyes darted to Delta’s green ones.

“So, Delta,” The fae said, smiling to reveal what looked like a snake’s fangs. “You know why we’re here? Nothing personal, of course, but you make such a _nice_ ornament at Alpha’s court, our boss thought, well, he just had to have you!”

Delta’s gaze remained even as he popped his last bite into his mouth, but under the table York could see his fingers flexing.

“Felix,” his companion said. York knew that voice. The man from the elevator? Had he been followed here? The thought made his mouth go dry.

“Wait outside,” the hunter said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

The human looked from Delta to Felix, nodded, and exited, closing the door behind him.

“You will not make me come,” Delta said. His voice had deepened into a rasping growl. York didn’t dare take his eyes from Felix to look, but he imagined Delta’s teeth and claws emerging.

Felix smirked. “Oh?” Something moved behind him: a cat’s tail, unfurling from somewhere. The only warning before he exploded into motion. Sprinting past York, he brandished something steel-bright in the air. A knife slashed past Delta’s face; he sidestepped, retreating toward the other side of the room. Felix was on him in an instant, a taloned hand rending his forearm rather than grabbing him. Delta yelped. Green blood welled up along the gouge.

The sight compelled York forward. Delta could not win this alone. Leaping forward, he threw his arms around Felix, hoping to impede the creature’s knife-hand. Felix shrugged him off. Before he could defend himself, Felix had turned on him. The knife came down, slicing across his face, dipping into his left eye toward his cheek. The world vanished in a spray of blood and agony. Someone screamed; York was too busy falling to the floor to tell who.

No. Open your eyes, he told himself. Delta needs you.

One eye opened.

Delta had used the distraction to sprout wings, the same tawny brown as his sphinx-form. He glanced toward the wall-length windows, considering an escape. But his eyes found York, met one whole eye and one bleeding on the floor. He hesitated. 

Felix slammed him into the rear wall. His knife drove hilt-deep through the bone of Delta’s right wing and into the plaster. Yowling in pain, Delta scratched at his face. Felix snatched his hand, pinned it beneath the wing with a second knife and the same brutal efficiency. Pain choked off the sphinx’s voice. Bright green blood dripped from the wounds to smear on the carpet.

“No,” York whispered.

“Still don’t want to come?” Felix asked.

Delta spat in his face.

Felix’s grin only widened. “Fair enough.” Reaching into his boot, he produced a third knife, this one larger than the others. “You know something? I’ve always wanted wings.” 

York clamped his eye shut. Metal thudded into bone; he could have sworn he heard something snap. Delta’s scream flooded his ears. Something plopped to the floor. Squinting, York saw a mess of feathers and ichor lying on the carpet. Delta sank to his knees. The knives tore into his hand and wing in the process, unnoticed in his agony.

Felix grabbed his chin and turned his head aside. “One more,” he said.

There was a crash, and the double doors exploded inward. A tall figure, a mottled Frankenstein hodgepodge of ages and races and genders, crashed through the doors. It was Alpha; Carolina was right on his heels, brandishing a wickedly curved knife that shifted in color like an oil slick. And if York could be sure of anything, it was this: Alpha was _furious_.

He thrust out a wizened hand and Felix froze. York’s eyes darted to where the doors were still swinging, where a green-clad figure lay unconscious.

“Locus!”

Not moving had been a bad idea: Carolina bodyslammed Felix into the ground, pulling her knife against his throat. “Blood for blood,” She hissed, jerking her head back at Delta. York looked again at the pool of green ichor and felt nauseated.

Carolina yanked a bottle out of her pocket, pressing Felix to the floor, and made a neat cut in the side of his neck. Orange blood welled up, and she moved to collect it in the bottle.

York, further away, saw it before she did. Felix fumbled a talisman out of the pocket of his jacket and ground it into the floor, smashing it to pieces; he disappeared from under Carolina, and outside the door, York saw Locus’s fallen body vanish as well.

“Delta!” Alpha rushed to the fallen fae. One dark-skinned hand pulled the knife from his wing. Delta shuddered but made no sound. Only when Alpha tugged the knife from his hand did a keening whine escape his throat. The Fae lord tucked his arm against his shirt, let him slump forward into his lap.

“Alpha?” Delta whimpered.

“I’m here,” Alpha said.

“They wanted me for Hargrove’s court,” Delta whispered.

“I know.” Alpha’s eyes flickered red. “They won’t have you.” His hand, now fair-skinned and well-manicured, brushed the hair from Delta’s forehead. The gesture, so tender yet so possessive, dragged a sympathetic moan from York.

 _”You.”_ The Fae Lord rounded on him, and in those eyes, York saw his death.

Carolina stepped between them. “Alpha, wait.”

“He brought that creature here!”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I don’t care.” Blue fire limned Alpha’s form.

“No.” Delta’s uninjured hand tightened on his knee. Alpha scowled down at him. “Please,” he amended.

York couldn’t breathe. Terror and pain stilled his lungs.

“Alph-- Church. Brother. You can save him,” Carolina said. “Save both of them. Let him take York as a host.”

“The human will live without it,” Alpha said.

“He’s lost too much blood,” she argued. “And living half-blind? What kind of life is that?”

Alpha stared at his sister. Large eyes shifted from blue irises to pits of human blood. York nearly vomited; Carolina didn’t move.

“Please,” she said. “For me, brother. Save them.”

He looked from Delta to York with eyes that phased back to normal. Considered.

“Consider us even, then,” he said. “Bring the human here.”

The breath rushed into York’s lungs. He could survive. They both could.

Carolina’s face came into view, those pointed eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I’m sorry for this,” she said. She stooped over him and dragged him to his feet. Tried to, anyway: the room spun into a haze of blood and pain and her frantic whispers urging him forward. He stumbled, groaning. Alpha must have moved Delta because she laid him at his side beneath his outstretched and broken wing. 

“Do you both consent to this?” Alpha asked, almost belatedly.

Their eyes met; York took in Delta’s bloodless expression, his ragged lip where he had bitten through it, the suffering in those vibrant eyes. Despite Carolina’s defense, this was his fault. If he could undo it, he would.

Delta’s hand sought his. York took it, let his fingers slide between what had once been claws.

“Very well.”

Delta went still, and for a moment York’s heart stopped; then he began to glow, green wings of light extending from his back like a full-body halo. York felt Delta’s fingers press hard into his own. They gripped so tight it was painful, and then-- t wasn’t anything. York couldn’t tell where his hand stopped and Delta’s began. They slipped sideways into each other, merging and fusing, bathed in green light. Then the light faded and York--Delta?--fell back, suddenly too exhausted almost to breathe. His back burned. His eye hurt. No. Not his, neither one was his. Theirs.

“Be sure you claim your price from them,” Alpha told Carolina.

“I will.”

When he had gone, Carolina smoothed the blood-soaked hair from York’s forehead. Delta flitted beneath his skin, confused by the touch. York twitched at the sensation, simultaneously his own and not quite. “What will you give me,” she asked, “for sparing you?”

A single heartbeat passed. Their decision was the same. “Anything,” they said with one voice.

That heartrending smile broke her face. “Anything?”

They nodded.

Featherlight hands touched either side of their face. She leaned over them; a tear dripped from her cheek onto theirs. “That’s a pretty dangerous promise to make,” she whispered.

She kissed them, and if she kissed him with half the longing that Delta sent thundering through his chest, York understood how truly lonely she was in the Fae Court. How badly she wanted somewhere to live, someone to love her. 

York understood his promise. She had warned him what a kiss meant. (Had that happened just yesterday?)

He--and Delta--kissed her back.


End file.
